


like the devil could

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Darker Lydia, F/M, Mentions of Marrish, mentions of Parrish, season 5 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>two enemies (friends? allies?) share a brief tête-à-tête, and brief plans for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like the devil could

Her purse lands on the countertop with a heavy thud.

He doesn’t look up from his chair.  He’s over in the living area, reading the paper.  She thinks he could use a pair of glasses, for effect.  “Careful,” he says.  “That’s marble.”

She scoffs.  “No, it’s not.”

She catches the flicker of a smirk.  “You kept my key.”

A shrug.  “Force of habit.”

He glances at her from over the paper.  “I know.”

He would. 

She takes off her jacket.  Musses her hair.  She’d trained with Parrish this morning.  Showered afterwords, but she knows it’s still on her.

And she knows he notices.

“Lydia,” he says.  “Why are you here?”

She steps out of the kitchen.  Pads over the carpet.  “Is that the best greeting you’ve got, Peter?”

He folds the paper.  Places it next to his chair as she approaches.  “My mistake,” he says.

She places her hand on her hips.  “Well?”

He gives her a look.  “Hand?”

She extends her arm.

He gently takes her fingers.  “Miss Martin,” he says.  Kisses her hand.  “How nice of you to stop by.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?” she says.

“Now,” he says.  Doesn’t release her hand.  “Why are you here?”

She cocks her head.  “Would it bother you if I told you someone else has been in my head?”

The slightest curl of his lip.  Just for an instant.  “It might.”

 

 

She takes back her hand.  Sits down on the arm of his chair.  Not across his lap.  That’s too gauche.  Implies things that she’s not terribly fond of.

“They call themselves the Dread Doctors,” she says.  “Friends of yours?”

He snickers at the name.  “No.”

“Of course not,” she says, tossing her hair over the shoulder closest to him.  She remembers the shampoo she likes.  She uses the one he likes less out of spite.  “You don’t have friends.”

“You wound me,” he says.

“If only literally,” she sighs.  She skims her fingers against his shoulders.  “Would you like to play a game of revenge?”

“Revenge on me?” Peter asks.  “Or am I getting revenge on that man you smell like?”

“Please,” Lydia says.  “He smells like me.”

Peter gives her a look.  “That hardly makes sense.”

She smirks.  “Cuckhold,” Lydia says.  “From the Middle English-”

“Cuccault,” Peter says.  “I’m not an idiot.”

She presses a finger to her lips.  “Debatable.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Cuccault.  The first part, cucu-”

“Cucu for the Cuckoo bird,” she says.  “Ault as the pejorative.”

“Middle English is behind your speed, Lydia,” he says.  “Or are you just peacocking?”

“I think we’ve made enough bird jokes, thanks,” she says.

“I was barely starting,” he says.  “You brought it up.”

“And you brought up the man,” she says.  “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No,” he says.  “I suppose thats just for the fun of rubbing in my face.”

“Always,” she says.  “Though he is really very charming.”

“Is he?” Peter asks.

“You’d love him,” she says.  Makes a point of studying her nail polish.  “Just your type.  Like you, when you were younger.”

She catches the way he grins.  “Is that so?”

“So many head games,” she says.  “Isn’t that funny?”

“It is,” he says.  “You’re always so many steps ahead.”

“Except when I’m not,” she replies.  

“Who do you want me to hurt, Lydia?” he asks.

She laughs.  “I want to do the hurting, Peter.  You’re just here for company.”

“My mistake,” he says.  “Go on.”

 

 

“I got cut open,” she says.  “On my side.”

“I know,” he says.  “I can smell it.”

She wrinkles her nose in distaste.  “I had surgery,” she says.  “And they went into my head.”

“And what?” he says.  “You’d like me to check for remainders? I can hardly get in your head anymore.”

“Oh please,” she says.  “You know I’ve been keeping you out.”

“And now you want to let me in,” he says.  “What makes you think you can trust me?”

“Oh,” she says.  “I’ll never trust you.  You know that.”

“Smart,” he says.  “How do you know I won’t leave remainders? Cover up their mess with my own?”

“Because your filth I can recognize,” she says.  “Theirs is... new.  I don’t like it.”

“And when I’m out,” he says.  “You’ll want me to tell you how to kill them, won’t you?”

She gives a dainty shrug.  “Only if you know how.”

“I know almost everything,” he says.  “You should know that by now.”

“You know half as much as I do,” she says.

“That’s hardly fair,” he says.  “You’re smarter than I’ve ever been.”

“Truth and flattery aren’t the same, Peter,” she says.  “Will you do what I want or not?”

 

 

He brushes his hand through her hair.  “Have I ever said no to you?”

She grins.  It feels entirely wicked, and she’s glad.  “One last thing.”

His hand rests on the back of her head.  “What?”

“I like Parrish,” she says.

His grin is too big.  But she knows.  “I’m sure you do.”

“Your hand is showing,” she says.

“Only to you,” he says.  “And again, you know I can’t hide a thing from that brain of yours.”

“But you keep trying,” she says.

“Of course I keep trying,” he says.  “There’d be no fun otherwise.”

“Fun,” she repeats.  “It’s always a game to you.”

“Is it something else to you, Lydia?” he asks.

She blinks.  “Of course not, Peter,” she says.  “That would be foolish.”

“Terribly,” he says.

She leans against his hand.  “You’re boring me,” she says.  “So hurry it up.”

“It may sting,” he says.

“It never has before,” she says.

“Yes,” he says.  “But now we’re sharing space.”

She lets out a snicker.

“Something funny?”

“You’re so mad about this,” she says.  “And you hardly have any claim to my head at all.”

“I think I have a fairer claim than they do.”

She considers it.  “You have whatever claim I say you have,” she says.  “Now come on, Peter.  I’m waiting.”

She knows he catches her meaning.


End file.
